


Repressed

by likebunnies



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, partners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 04:49:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4466018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likebunnies/pseuds/likebunnies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scully discovers she has forgotten something she really shouldn't have. </p>
<p>Originally posted in 1999.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repressed

**Author's Note:**

> According to the notes on one version, this was originally posted on February 6, 1999. Which makes me a terrible mother but a very dedicated fan fic writer. 
> 
> This contains spoilers for Little Green Men, Duane Barry, Ascension, One Breath, Max, Tempus Fugit, and the first movie, Fight the Future. And a birthday keychain. 
> 
> There are three other parts to this story but I'm not ready to post them yet. This stands perfectly fine without them.

Repressed  
by Jori 

July 1999

I can barely catch my breath as the elevator slowly ascends to the fourth floor. I can't believe this is happening. I just cannot believe that after all this time he never said a damn word. For five years Mulder has known and remained silent, his memories still perfectly intact. Mine apparently were damaged more than I thought. I believed I didn't remember anything *after* Duane Barry kidnapped me until I woke up again in that hospital room. I guess there were some holes in my memory from before my abduction. And Mulder never bothered to clue me in.

Breathe, Dana, I keep telling myself over and over. Just remember to keep breathing through this. *This* isn't that bad.

Right. For all that time I have been kept in the dark. He never once said a damn thing. Did he think it was normal to forget such a thing as this? Perhaps he was glad I forgot, forever letting him off the hook. We could just go back to what we were and he was set free from whatever obligation he might have felt. A part of me feels violated, as if something precious has been stolen away, but I push that feeling back. I'll deal with that later. 

I look down at the box in my hand again. It's what started all of this, and it's what brought back the memories. I found it this morning, while cleaning out a carton full of old papers. I've held this package before, but it never had this effect on me. All of a sudden, a tangle of memories came flooding over me, as they surfaced from the deepest recesses of my mind. These memories couldn't possibly be mine, could they? Memories of entwined legs and arms and mouths and souls. There's no way these memories could be real. No way. It is a trick my mind is playing on me. That's all it is. 

But somehow I know better. 

The elevator doors slide open and I step out. I can still turn back. I can still step into the elevator and continue living like I never knew, or I can continue down this hall and face him. I've faced Mulder nearly every day for years now. I've faced him after he admitted to other things he *neglected* to tell me. Why should this change anything? Hell, it *just* does. I hear the doors finally slide shut behind me, leaving me with one less option. Of course, I can still push the button, ride it down, get in my car and just go home. Or I can go face the truth. The truth he's hidden from me for years now.

I take slow, deliberate steps to Mulder's door, still inventing and reinventing my exact game plan in my head. How do I ask these questions? How do I admit that I forgot *this.* What if I there wasn't anything to forget, and my mind is playing tricks on me, creating images of something that never happened? Is it merely something I want to have happen? Is it?

I don't want to humiliate myself any more than I might possibly already be. I've spent the day deliberating about how I should confront him with my new found information, playing out multiple scenarios in my mind. I want to be calm and collected when I finally see him face to face, but I'm beginning to find that calmness hard to hold on to. 

I'm in front of his door, and yet I'm undecided. I can still leave. Something in my brain cries for me to just walk away. Pretend it never happened. Come on, you can do it. You can walk away. 

Something else is telling me to find the truth. It's always the damned truth. The ever elusive search for it always wins out. 

I knock hard under the number forty-two, hoping I'll find all my answers here. My fingers are clenched around the package in my other hand, for it's my evidence. Actually, it's the only evidence I've got. There is nothing else from the last five years that even remotely hinted at what I'm remembering.

Mulder swings the door open and looks surprised to see me standing in his hall at two o'clock in the morning. 

"Scully? What's wrong?" he asks me as he wipes his sleepy eyes. I can tell he just threw on a pair of jeans, not even bothering to fasten them. He crosses his arms over his bare chest. 

"Mulder, why in the hell didn't you ever tell me?" I ask him, holding up the package I brought over with me. 

He leans up against the doorframe and sighs, taking the video package out of my hand. He examines the title as if it were new to him, as if he wasn't the one who gave this to me. His eyes finally meet mine, and I know the truth. His eyes always tell the truth. The memories are real. 

Sweet Jesus, I think, as I feel my knees involuntarily begin to go out from under me. Mulder grabs my arm and holds me up, pulling me into his apartment. My attempts at staying rational about this are slowly fading away. 

"Scully, come in. We need to talk," he tells me as he guides me to the couch.

I can't answer for I cannot talk. I've lost my voice. 

********************************************** 

July 1994

"Hi! What are you doing here?" I ask, surprised to see Scully again today. I had already spoken to her earlier, after getting my ass chewed out by Skinner for leaving my weak excuse of an assignment. I certainly didn't expect to see her again so soon. 

"I just thought I'd stop by to see how you are doing. I know you are upset about that tape..." she starts to say, as she remains standing in the hall.

"Don't worry about it. It is just one more incident of 'so close but yet so far' in my life. Someday I'll get used to it. I'll probably expect it as the norm, actually," I tell her.

It's true. I'm always on the verge of discovering everything I need to know, only to be thwarted back again. This isn't the first time. 

"Can I come in?" she asks, and I feel stupid for not inviting her in. Just a few days ago I was afraid to be seen with her, afraid they're following us. Fuck them all now. It doesn't matter who I'm with. 

"Yeah. Sure. I'm sorry," I say, stepping back to let her in to my apartment. 

She walks by me, sits down on my couch and focuses on the television. 

"Did you get enough evidence on your wiretap yet?" she asks. She knows that there will never be enough evidence as long as they want to keep me there. I might be sitting in that damn hotel until I'm sixty-five. They'll have to come and fetch me for my retirement party. I know she just wants me to talk about it. To open up. I sit down next to her and stare blankly at the TV. 

"No, I didn't get enough evidence to make any arrests yet. That's okay. I have nothing better to do but sit and wait. Well, I have better things to do, I'm just not allowed to do them anymore," I say, and she still focuses away from me.

"*We,* Mulder. We aren't allowed to do them anymore," she tells me with all seriousness. 

I wish I felt that way. She was assigned to the X-Files, nothing more. It's her job to watch over me for them, make sure I trod the straight and narrow. The X-Files were borne of my body and blood. Not hers. Her sacrifices have been nothing compared to mine. 

"You aren't stuck in the world of mundane wire taps, Scully. They let you go back to your old assignment. You aren't the one being punished," I tell her, a little too harshly I guess. 

"Is that what you believe? That you're in this alone? You said it yourself this afternoon. You still have me. I'm being punished by being separated from you and this isn't just a one way street. Get over yourself, Mulder," she says, as she turns to me, her eyes flaring with anger. 

"That isn't what I meant, Scully. They aren't trying to get rid of you. They don't want you to quit. They never will. It's me that's the thorn in their sides, not you," I say.

"I didn't choose to walk away. I would never walk away from you unless I was forced to," is all she says as she places her hand over mine. It is true. She never would.

Neither of us says anything for several minutes. Her hand doesn't move from mine. My eyes don't move from the TV screen.

"What are you watching, Mulder?" she asks.

"'Superstars of the Superbowl,'" I answer.

"Isn't that the one you get for free when you subscribe to the swimsuit issue offer of 'Sports Illustrated'?" she asks, a slight touch of playfulness reaching out through her voice. 

"You know me. Can't pass up a Kathy Ireland picture," I say, "No, actually, had I subscribed to the swimsuit issue offer, you'd be watching an entirely different type of video. You know, girls wearing thongs and seashells frolicking in the sand."

"I'd have to say they were wearing too much clothes for your taste," she says with a sly grin. 

"Actually, the most beautiful woman I know is usually buttoned up from neck to ankle and has of late taken to wearing a large trench coat almost constantly even in summer," I say, and I don't know why. It just comes out of my mouth. 

Scully knows she's beautiful, but that isn't all she is. Her beauty would be nothing without the mind that goes with it. That's what makes her so damn special to me.

Her hand is still over mine. It's warm and soft. One would never know what these hands do all day. 

"I should be going," she says, as she finally pulls her hand away. I catch it quickly in mine before she can escape. 

"No. Stay," I say.

********************************************* 

July 1999

Mulder tries to make me sit down on his couch, but images of what happened there years ago rattle off in my mind, one after another, with such newfound clarity it is as if it happened yesterday. I shake his hand off of me, confident my own legs can carry me to the chair in the corner. 

I sink into the chair and hug the throw pillow, whose place I'm occupying, close to my chest. It must be my feeble attempt to put another layer between myself and what I now know is true. Mulder sits opposite of me, not needing to hide behind anything. I can't bring myself to look him in the eye yet. Instead, I choose to watch one lonesome fish circle its large home. The fish. I remember something about those damn fish. 

"I always wondered if you would ever remember," Mulder says quietly.

"Now I'm left to wonder why you never told me," I say, bitterness rising up into my voice. 

"I thought I was, uh. . ." he starts and our eyes meet.

"Please say anything but you thought you were protecting me, because in this case, there was nothing to protect me from but you," I tell him.

He says nothing back to me, instead our eyes watch each other from across the room, locked on to one another. Words about personal issues were never easy between us, and talk of feelings or emotions rarely make it to the surface. Maybe that's why he never told me. Maybe that's why I never remembered. 

"Can I ask you something?" he says, breaking the careful silence enveloping the room. 

My eyes don't move from his. How could he have questions? He's the one with the answers. 

"Go ahead," I say, sounding as detached and distant as I feel. 

"What upsets you more? The fact that you didn't remember after you came back or the fact that it happened in the first place?" he asks, also presenting his best detached, clinical voice. 

"Don't you dare try to analyze me, Mulder! Don't you even dare," I say vehemently, pointing a finger at him like I'm scolding a child. 

"I'm not trying to analyze you. If I were, you'd be the one on the couch. I just want to know," he says, a softness edging back into his voice, working me over like it always does. I can hardly believe that it must have worked so well once. Was it just once? 

I don't even know what bothers me more about this whole thing. Was it because it happened in the first place? Was it? I can't even answer these questions for myself. Maybe I'm even mad at myself for not remembering. 

"Mulder, I know something happened, but I can't even remember enough yet to tell you whether we made love or just had sex on your stupid couch. I don't even know what it was." 

*******************************************

July 1994

I don't know how it happened so easily. My arm is around her and she's snuggled next to me watching this piece of shit video. So much for needing a romantic chick flick. Then again, Scully and chick just don't belong in the same thought anyway. 

I'll admit it's been hard working without her. That's one of the unbearable parts of the X-files being shut down. I never realized how far Quantico, Virginia really was. Maybe not so far mileage-wise. Just far when you miss someone. 

Hopefully they won't go trying to reassign someone else to be my partner. That would be the final blow. Not only would I have lost her, but the thought that she could be replaced is unfathomable. If I can't work with her, I'll work alone. 

Scully seems so content in our closeness, and I'm afraid to move. If I do, she might shift away and this moment will be broken. This is the closest thing to normal life I've felt in years. Could we make something like this last between us? I doubt it. I can't make anything work these days.

"Mulder, I need to go home," she says quietly, as if she is trying to convince herself of it. 

"No, you don't. You can stay right here with me for awhile longer. I miss you," I admit to her, and she doesn't get up to leave. 

"I miss you, too. Even if we just spent hours together flying back from Puerto Rico," she says. 

I was sad when our flight was over. It was like old times, the two of us sitting so close, crowded into our cheap coach seats. When did I begin to miss her physical presence so much?

"Mulder, you know everything is going to work out, don't you?" she says, more of a statement than a question. 

"I don't know about that, Scully. I don't think anything can get worse than listening to and transcribing hour upon hour of wiretaps. This is shit work, and they know it. I swear they just want me to quit, to force me out," I say. It doesn't get much lower than what I'm doing now. 

"You'll know they're serious about getting rid of you when they have you doing background checks," she says with a smile, "But, seriously, would you ever quit?"

"Not this week," I say. Maybe my breaking point will come next week. Or next year. I don't know. What would make me give it all up? 

She shifts against me, moving in closer. I could get used to this. I shouldn't be thinking like that. This is Scully, my partner. Scratch that. Former partner. But that still doesn't make it right. Can she hear my heart beating faster as she moves in close?

I lean over and kiss the top of her head, offering up what little reassurance I can that I'm glad she is here with me and that everything will be okay. Judging by her reaction, maybe that was a little closer than she wanted to be. Scully pulls away from me, and sits up straighter, a look of concern crossing her face. It only took a second, but she has become Scully, my all too serious former partner again.

"I'm sorry," I say, hoping I didn't cross any line that couldn't be uncrossed. 

"There is nothing to be sorry for. If anyone should be sorry, it should be me. I was getting a little too comfortable on your shoulder," she says, and she gets up off the couch. 

I follow her to the door, not wanting her to go. I have no idea when we might see each other again. 

"Goodnight, Mulder," she says, as she turns to me. 

"Don't be a stranger, okay?" I say, as I pull her into my arms just to hug her. No, nothing more. Honestly. She would never want more. I don't even think I want more. Do I? 

She lingers in my arms longer than I ever imagined she would, and I lean down and kiss her forehead, pressing my lips against her longer than I ever should have. She doesn't pull away. My hands move up to her face, and I gently caress the curves of her cheekbones. She looks up at me, her face a picture book, each individual feature telling a story of apprehension or anticipation or exhilaration. Each one of those emotions is struggling there, battling for the proprietorship of Dana Scully's face. I think apprehension is winning. 

I lean in slowly, giving her all the time in the world to back away before our lips brush. It's so slight it barely registers, but I know it is real as I pull away. She is still watching me silently, waiting on me as I wait on her. I kiss her again, this one is given with far more intention then the first. She rises up to meet me, her mouth opening up under mine, pleading for more. 

This can't be happening, can it?

*************************************** 

July 1999

"I certainly wouldn't have ever called it 'just sex,' Scully," he snaps at me, and it begins to register that perhaps he cherishes these memories I'm just discovering. I do not want to diminish his feelings, but I want some answers. 

How many times have they played through his head? How many times has he looked at me and had those memories repeat over and over? Mulder and his damn memory. 

"Then what was it, Mulder?" I ask again, somehow missing the whole issue of why he never told me. I need to steer this conversation back that way, but I need to desperately find out what in the hell went on here.

"It was. . . it was great, Scully. And then you were gone," he tells me, his voice laden with emotion. 

"Mulder, I feel as if I woke up this morning and discovered I had slept with my brother," I say to him. 

"Is that what you think of me as? A brother? I thought I was more than that," Mulder says, his eyes leaving mine. 

"You are. You have been. I just don't know what to think right now. What do you want me to think of you as, Mulder? A lover?" I ask him.

"Your partner," he simply says. 

I close my eyes, allowing the memories to flood my brain. The missing pieces are starting to fill in. I came over here. We sat and watched that video together. I was going to leave him here. We kissed. I was going to leave and we kissed. . .

"Mulder, last summer, if it hadn't been for that bee, would we have made love?" I ask. 

"I can't answer for you," he says, but he doesn't answer for himself, either. 

"Would you have wanted to? Would you have continued this charade and pretended it was the first time?" I ask, needing desperately to know, yet not knowing why.

"It would have never gone that far," he says.

"Why not?" I ask.

"You would have stopped it."

"Why?" 

"Because apparently I'm more like a brother to you now."

*********************************************** 

July 1994

"What was that?" she asks, pulling away from me slightly. 

"I don't know, but please don't stop," I tell her, pulling her back to me. She comes back into my arms without a second thought. Scully's face is lit up with what I can only describe as happiness. The two of us haven't had much cause for being happy lately, and this isn't really how I intended to make her smile again. It sure is working, though.

I stand in front of my door, swaying slowly with her in my arms to music that only we can hear, the rhythm section consisting mainly of my pounding heart. 

"Would, you, uh, like to sit down again?" I ask her, forcing myself to be willing to accept what ever answer she gives me. A puzzled look crosses her face, as if she is weighing her options carefully before she moves one way or another. Kissing while standing in front of my door was okay, but getting out of our present vertical position seems to be her hold up. 

"I don't know about this, Mulder," she says. Scully's expression keeps alternating between a smile and that little furrow she gets in her brow.

"I promise, we won't take this anywhere you don't want it to go," I tell her, as I gently move the two of us back into my living room. 

***************************************

July 1999

Mulder is silently brooding over on his side of the room, clearly upset about the brother comment I made. It's true, though. I can't view him as a lover right now. I've considered it before, wondered what catalyst would push us to that next level. I never suspected we already had gone there without any real catalyst at all. 

I see some of it so clearly now. I remember him pulling me across this very room, pulling me back to the couch. I can't look at him while these visions filter through my brain, for I'm afraid my face will flush with embarrassment. He chooses not to look at me either. 

Mulder and I were on that couch, I was under him, he was over me, kissing me. He pulled me to that couch. A thought flashes through my brain like wildfire. He pulled me to the couch. 

"Mulder, was I a willing participant. . ."

He is up and off the couch in a second, standing before me with his hands on his hips. 

"What in the hell are you implying, Scully? That I raped you? Christ! You don't remember anything, do you?" he nearly shouts at me. 

"No," is all I can say, for it is the truth. What I do remember is so hazy, it as if it were a dream.

"I would *never* hurt you. Never. Not then, not now. I can't even believe you would think that. Fuck this whole thing. I've gone from being your damn brother to a rapist in a matter of minutes," he says as he begins pacing angrily in front of me.

I can't believe I would even think that, either. Mulder would never do that. This is Mulder, my partner. Mulder, who believes in aliens and ghosts. Mulder, whose whole life is centered around finding the truth. He would never commit such an act. 

"Mulder, I'm sorry, I'm just so confused. I'm angry. I'm hurt. I don't really know what to think right now," I tell him, but he still keeps on pacing. 

The phone rings, causing both of us to jump. He grabs for it, answering it after one ring. Mulder sounds angry. I'm the one who should be angry. He's the one who should be apologizing. 

"Mulder. No, Frohike, now is not a good time. . . no, I don't have a 'chick' here. Yeah, Agent Scully is here. No, no. . . we're discussing something about work. Yeah, if I get a chance."

He hangs up the phone and tosses it across the room to the couch. 

"Does he know?" I ask, wondering if perhaps Mulder told Frohike while I was missing, just in passing. Maybe he missed me and told someone. Anyone. Maybe even my sister. I don't even know what he did while I was missing. 

Mulder stops pacing and looks squarely at me. 

"No one knew but me. And now you," he says.

***********************************************

July 1994

She's under me, her mouth open to my kisses, her tongue darting in and out of my mouth, teasing me ever so slightly. I feel her hands move in between our bodies, unbuttoning my jeans. She's so close, making it hard to tell where I end and she begins, yet we could be closer. We're going to be so much closer to something if she keeps *that* up with her hand. 

I somehow manage to sit up, pulling her with me so she is straddling my lap. She is in control now, her mouth meeting mine in fiery, hot kisses. I would have never imagined she could kiss like this. I have never imagined her like this at all. 

I undo the buttons on her suit coat, and when she sheds it, I help her pull off the silk shirt she had on underneath followed by her bra. I sit back for a moment, to admire her breasts, before I pull one perfect nipple into my mouth and feel it grow hard under my tongue. She moans and I will never forget that sound for the rest of my life. 

My fingers fumble at the side button of her suitpants and she rises off of me, undressing the rest of the way quickly. She's completely naked on my lap and beckoning me to join her. I thank God that I changed into jeans and a T-shirt when I got back from my *job*, because I would not have the patience to wait for all those little buttons on a dress shirt to be undone.

Her tongue is traveling a slow line down and around my neck, and she nips at me slightly. It doesn't matter if she leaves a mark. No one sees me all day anyway. 

"Scully, lie down. I want to do something," I tell her, and I dip my head in between her thighs, slowly, teasingly working my way to just the right spot. Oh, yeah. I love this, I think, as she shifts her hips ever so slightly, moving her closer and closer to me.

"Mulder, please. Yes. Like that," she moans, and I'm only too glad to oblige. 

I can feel the tension building in her body, and I bring her to release quickly, hoping I can do just that many more times tonight. That was far too fast. I want it to be slow.

As I sit up and watch her body rock with delightful tremors, the forgotten tape in the VCR hits the end and ejects itself. The TV station is much louder than I remembered, and images of Apollo 11 roaring into space fill the screen. 

"I believe you made me see rockets fly, Mulder," Scully says with a sly grin. 

"It's been twenty-five years this month since Apollo 11 landed on the moon. Anybody watching TV in the next few days has a chance to see a few more rockets fly. Maybe even you. . ."

She sits up and pulls me to her, her mouth meeting mine again. I am filled with the taste of Scully and I still want more. Scully backs up a little to look at me.

"Now I'm going to take you to the moon," she says, pulling me yet even closer. 

*******************************************

July 1999

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" I ask, getting to the heart of the matter. So, we had sex and I don't remember it. I can't change that. What I do want to know is why he never said a damn word about it all these years. 

"At first, after you came back, I thought you remembered. When I came to the hospital, you said you didn't remember anything *after* Duane Barry. Then I handed you the video, and you made a comment about knowing there was a reason to live. I was so sure you wouldn't forget something like us. . . together, no matter what trauma you suffered," he tells me. He has stopped pacing, and is back to sitting on his side of the room, his arms crossed in front of him, protecting him from any more barbs I may throw his way. 

"Didn't we ever discuss it after it happened, Mulder?" I ask him. I'm sure I would remember something. Even if my mind blocked out the primary event, how could it block out any mention of it?

"Actually, no. After we, uh, slept together, things got a little hectic. I ended up chasing through sewers and such, and we talked, but it never came up. I did ask you if you wanted to come over once, when you came to meet me at the park, but you said no. Then came Krycek, and things never were the same again," he says, giving me his best, 'please forgive me puppy dog face.'

"And all these years you didn't wonder if I remembered and I just didn't say anything?" I ask. 

"Damn straight I wondered. At first, I just thought you needed time, but then weeks stretched into months, followed by years. I didn't want to say anything for fear you *didn't* want to be reminded. I thought perhaps you didn't want to deal with one more thing after your abduction," he says. 

"I don't remember much of it," I say, getting frustrated with myself. 

"What do you remember?" he asks. 

"Scattered images, really. I remember watching the football video with you, then going to leave. Then. . . some more stuff. I'm beginning to remember something on TV about space travel. Apollo 11, I think. . ." I start to say. All of a sudden, images of a bar and a keychain for a birthday present come to mind.

He just looks at me, seriously. He is not taking this lightly, his respect for me running deep. 

"The keychain, Mulder. Is that the reason behind it?" I ask. He gave me some off the cuff reason when I rationalized that gift years ago. He thought it was cool or neat. I can't even remember his words. 

"I wanted to see if you remembered. I wanted to see if you were just hiding from me for all that time. It was then that I realized you didn't even know it ever happened."

"And you still didn't tell me?" I ask, still angry at him for keeping this all from me. Still angry that he had memories of me that I couldn't share. 

"By that time, I didn't know how, and then your cancer. . . it just didn't seem right," he tells me. His eyes carry a message of apology across the room. 

Can I forgive him for one more omission?

"What else do you remember, Scully?" he asks.

"The couch. That couch. I remember. . ." I begin to say as images of his face between my thighs comes into my mind. I can feel my face becoming flush with the new memory and I look away from Mulder. 

"There is nothing to be embarrassed about. Do you understand, Scully? No matter what, I do love you. I don't want this to hurt you."

***************************************

July 1994

I can hardly believe this is happening, as Scully and I slip and slide in sticky delight on my couch. Thank God it is so easy to wipe up anything that spills onto leather. 

Scully is on top, rising and falling on me with an ever quickening pace. Her face is marked with an expression of pleaure, which is great, for I can hardly contain myself, either. 

"Mulder," she says, as she leans forwards, "the fish are watching us."

I laugh out loud. Leave it to Scully to be concerned that my fish are voyeurs. 

"I think they'll recover from the experience, Scully, though I doubt it's something they'll ever forget," I tell her, pulling her down into a frenzied kiss. 

"I wonder if I'll recover?" she says, as she moves away from my hungry mouth. 

"I don't think I want you to," I say. I put my hands on her hips, wanting her to speed up. Instead she gets a teasing grin on her face and stops moving all together. 

"We don't want things to go too fast, do we?" she says, as she starts to rock ever so slightly up and down my cock. 

"No, but. . ." I start to say, but she silences me with a kiss. If she doesn't move faster soon, I will be a begging man.

"I want to fuck you so hard, you never forget it. I want you to come hard inside of me, Mulder, and I want to watch your face while you do it," she says. I'm sure her laughter that follows that statement is directly related to the stunned look on my face. Scully talks dirty. 

"Trust me, Scully, I will come how ever you want me to. You've just got to start moving," I say, and I do sound like I'm begging now.

"How's this?" she asks. Like she even has to ask. I'm sunk to hilt in Scully, and she has to question if is right. 

"That is so good," I say, as she bounces on me with a maddening ferocity. I'm so close to toppling over the edge into heaven, I can barely stand it. 

"Scully, slow down. You've got to catch up to me," I tell her, not wanting to take this trip on my own.

She leans back with her hands on either side of me, giving my fingers better access to her most sensitive spot. Scully and I suddenly moan in unison. Who ever decided we should be split up ought to have their head examined. 

"I'm so close, Mulder," she moans, and I'm glad for it. I don't think I can hold off for a minute longer. 

"Come for me, Scully. I want to see your face while you do it," I say, mimicking her earlier words. 

"Not without you," she says, as she returns to a more frenetic motion up and down on me. 

"You have nothing to worry about there," I say, as my hips buck up under her, finally reaching such sweet release. I cannot think to move my fingers on her body anymore, and am thankful when she takes over. 

"Oh, God!" I barely hear her exclaim as she topples over on to me. 

"Scully?" I ask quietly. 

"Wha. . ." she ask, her breathing still hampered by the orgasm I can feel traveling through her body.

"You were right. I did see the moon. And a few thousand stars along the way."

*************************************************

July 1999

"What do we do now, Mulder, when tomorrow comes?" I ask. I need to know how I'm going to get through this. I know there's really nothing he can do to help me, besides understand my feelings.

"We do the same thing we do every day, Scully. We try to save the world," he says rather snidely. He's had years to explore all these feelings. I've only had a few hours. 

"I just don't think this is anything to joke about, Mulder. I'm still angry at you for covering up something so immense for all these years. What ever happened to the truth, Mulder? Or does that only apply when it concerns you?" I say. I still haven't left the chair in the corner, still haven't given up the pillow I'm hiding behind. 

"No, the truth doesn't only apply to me and you know that. After so much time went by, I saw no point in telling you. It wouldn't have brought. . ." he stops, as if he is afraid of what response his next words might bring. 

"Brought what, Mulder?" I ask, "You can tell me anything. I don't know why you don't believe that."

"It wouldn't have brought you back to me," he says, his voice flat and calm. 

"Is that what you've wanted all these years?" I ask. There have been days when I wanted nothing more than to run away somewhere warm and tropical with Mulder, but I've always managed to contain those feelings. Or at least I thought I have. 

Besides, that isn't what we are about. We're partners in the FBI. Platonic friends. Nothing more. Platonic friends who would go to the ends of the earth for one another, and who have no other friends anymore. 

"Scully, I don't know what I've wanted all these years, but I realized years ago that what happened here wasn't what you wanted. I think you may need to talk to someone else about this if you feel it is going to have an effect on our working relationship," he says. 

"You want me to go talk to Karen? About this? Do you understand what might happen to any relationship we might still have? They will use this, Mulder. You know that," I tell him flat out. We are hanging on a tenuous thread as it is at the FBI. This could just be what they need to snap that thread, leaving us to dangle on separate ends of what used to be the same strand. 

"Whoever you talk to, I'll be there if you need me. I'll go with you. All I know is that I can't be your therapist on this one."

"You? Be my therapist? The idea of you as anyone's therapist is asinine, Mulder," I snap at him. How could he help anyone with their problems when he can't even figure out his own. He hasn't even learned to trust me enough to tell me something that involves me and my body. God only knows what else he is hiding. 

"It was just a suggestion. You're the one wondering where do we go from here," Mulder says, as his hand gently glides over the surface of his couch. I can only imagine what he is thinking.

********************************************

July 1994

"What a mess!" Scully exclaims, as I grab a kitchen towel to wipe off my couch. 

"But it is a good mess," I say, as she sits in the chair opposite of me while I finish up my 'housekeeping.'

She is silent as she sits all wrapped up in my blanket watching me. I just pray she doesn't regret this. I certainly don't. 

"So, where do we go from here?" she asks, just as I sit my naked ass down on my somewhat sticky couch. 

"Well, look on the bright side. They can't split us up over this," I say to an all too serious Scully. 

"Right," is all she says.

"Come on, Scully. Don't go weird on me now. We can work through anything. Besides, I always knew this day would come," I say, and a tiny smile flits across her face with my choice of words. 

"I really should be getting home, Mulder. I have a class to teach early in the morning," she says as she rises out of the chair. She's still wrapped in the blanket as she picks up all her clothes. 

"You don't have to leave, Scully. You can stay here with me," I plead. I don't want her to think this is it, a one time deal, filed away, never to be mentioned again. I want her to know how much I need her here by my side.

"Where would I sleep? On the couch with you?" she asks, and I can already tell she is leaving.

"I have a bed, Scully. Somewhere back there. Please stay," I tell her, hoping something will make her change her mind. 

"No. Not tonight. I really need to get home," she says, as she gathers up the last of her clothes and goes into my bathroom to get dressed. 

Scully comes back into the living room just as I'm putting the football video tape back into its box and turning off a picture of Neil Armstrong bouncing across the moon. 

"Well," she says. We're quite the picture. She's the buttoned-up FBI agent again, while I'm standing naked with 'Superstars of the Superbowl' in my hand. 

"I'll call you, Scully," I say, realizing how stupid it sounds too late. She just smiles. 

"Of course you will, Mulder. The one thing I know I can always count on is for you to call me," she says, as she gathers up her purse and walks towards the door. 

"Scully. . . I, uh. well," I start, but can't get the next words out. 

"Yeah, me too," she answers as she slips out the door.

*********************************************

July 1999

"I need to go home," I say, rising out of the chair.

"No. Please stay," he says, and I begin to remember our parting words from that night. Or, rather, our lack of parting words. 

"Why?" I ask. Mulder has no reason for me to stay. He's told me what he can. The only blanks he could fill in now would be exactly what happened, and I don't know if I'm ready for all the finer details yet. 

"I don't want you to leave here mad. Scully, I'm sorry. I should have told you. It was unfair of me to keep something like this from you, but you've got to understand, it hurt me a lot back then. You came back from the dead, and the one thing you forgot was being with me," he says.

"Mulder, for once, this isn't about you and how you feel. This is about me," I say candidly. He has a special knack in his way to manipulate everything so he's the focus. He's a pro at it. 

"No, Scully, this time it's about *us.*" 

Us? Since when has there been an *us* that he recognizes? 

"I don't know what you want me to say, Mulder? That I forgive you for not telling me? That I want you to tell me in vivid detail everything that went on here that night? Or was it day? I don't even know. God, Mulder, my memory of it is so filled with holes, I wouldn't even know where to begin," I say, wanting to just get up and leave this place. 

"Ask me anything. I'll tell you as honestly as I can without hurting you, Scully. I think I've said that before," he says. He's watching me through slit eyes, pondering my next move. He expects me to leave. One of us always leaves the room when things get too close, and this time should be no exception to the rule. Except there are so many questions still in my head. 

I can only think of one question. It flutters to the top of my mind and out of my mouth before I can stop it. 

"Was it worth it?"

He doesn't answer, but instead looks at me, stunned. I walk to his door, and leave him there, with the memories that are only his now. 

 

The End


End file.
